


Decorated

by causalsilence (theaccidentalhipster)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Interior Decorating, M/M, Sexual Humour, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaccidentalhipster/pseuds/causalsilence





	Decorated

As soon as John saw his flatmate shooting at the wall... yet again, he knew it could only mean one thing. That he would be redecorating the flat... yet a-bloody- gain.

With the cost of builders, materials and Sherlock shooting the place up at least three times a month, practically destroying a wall every time Mrs Hudson had come to an ultimatum. If and when Sherlock got bored and shot the wall it would be up to the flatmates to fix it i.e. Sherlock would sit and watch as John struggled with the plastering, wall paper and pasting, all the while trying to deduct where John had hidden his gun this time. This would take him all off a week and then he would be shooting again.

John had decided to only redecorate the wall when it was on its last legs and due to Sherlock's latest armed rampage against it, it seemed like that time had come once again. He sighed not even jumping as another single gunshot rang out through the flat. You know that things are getting bad when you are used to someone shooting in an enclosed space. Equally when you know your wallpaper salesman by name and have his home number. Especially bad when he now recognizes your number.

"Usual, John?" he said cheerily down the phone. Bill flamboyantly gay wallpaper stockist, with a massive crush on both Sherlock and John, bloody ray of sunshine.

He had a right to be bloody cheery, probably starting to panic when John hasn't called in a few weeks. And with the paper being £25 per square meter and the wall being 22.34 meters (yes he knew the exact measurements), it was needless to say that it was beginning to add up. John had bought cheaper paper at one point but Sherlock had shown his appreciation for this by upping his level of destruction taking it down in one afternoon.

After that John had stayed with the more expensive paper, under the proviso that he was one keeping a roof over his head and two actually saving himself work in the long run. Sherlock pulled the trigger from his seated position causing Bill on the other end of the line to jump; John could hear his breath hitch as he re-caught it.

"Other half at it again" he asked cheekily. John groaned loudly.

"Bill I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Sherlock and I are not gay" John whispered down the phone, turning his back at the accusing stares he was getting from the corner of the room. Bill clucked his teeth; John could practically hear him rolling his eyes down the phone.

"And I've told you a thousand times that I can spot a gay man from a mile away and you're Sherlock-" "He's not my Sherlock" John hissed again. The gun silenced once more and John flinched almost feeling the stares that Sherlock was shooting in his direction.

Bill laughed aware of the awkward situation due to the silence on the other end of the phone.

"I just call them as I see them darling. And you two are the most coupley non couple I've ever seen" he purred suggestively down the phone. John ground his teeth threateningly.

"Oh I've upset you now... well anyway back to business ...you're lucky hun. I have what you need in stock; I can drop it round today, even though you had the nerve to call me at this ungodly hour." He said.

"It's Sherlock and his bloody violin! He had me up at 3 this morning!" John shrieked.

"You said you were fine about the violin." "Oh I bet he had you up at three this morning!" two voices overlapped, one coming from the phone, one from the living room.

"What! No! BILL! AND YES SHERLOCK BUT NOT AT 3 O'CLOCK ON A SATURDAY" John shrieked both answers into the phone. Bill was cackling down the phone. Sherlock was muttering something about knowing what he was getting into under his breath.

"Look can you get it round before eight... I want to get this done as soon as I can" John hissed casting accusing looks into the living room. Bill spluttered down the phone.

"But John! I need to make myself look nice for Sherlock, I can't do that in 20 minutes" he pouted, his voice whiny and childlike. John groaned again.

"Look Bill! You live ten minutes away, I need one roll. Send one of your boys out or something. Besides Sherlock will be getting the room ready for stripping" he answered. There was silence on the other end. The only clue that Bill was still on the line was the lack of dialling tone and the man's quickened breathing, obviously stifling a giggle.

"I'm going to ignore that obvious innuendo material for this my dear Watson. When does Sherlock ever help you with the redecorating?" he said finally, his voice steady albeit slightly higher than normal. John opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. He did have a point.

==

Sherlock sprawled unattractively over the now moved sofa, his head lolling over one side as he watched John pull one of the final pieces of the now ruined wallpaper from its fixings. It had come away fairly easy, no doubt due to the fact that it had only been fixed a few weeks ago.

Sherlock couldn't see John and Mrs Hudson's problems with a few bullet holes in the wall. He thought it added character to the place. He shrugged to himself. The brains of his species perplexed him sometimes.

John huffed trying to reach the very top corner of the wall, his small stature a disadvantage, his fingers only just brushing the piece that he was struggling to reach. Sherlock fought back a laugh, his shoulders shaking as he watched his vertically challenged flatmate, grasping idly at slippery blank wall, his face surely pursed in concentration, his little pink tongue sticking out.

John huffed now reaching for a small wooden stool to reach the wallpaper. In fall view of Sherlock he reached upwards, his fingers finally grasping the paper. With a tug, he pulled the paper backwards, ripping it in two and falling bottom first onto the floor with a thump, the torn paper in his hand, the other half dangling teasingly even more out of reach. This was just too much for Sherlock.

His blank emotionless mask breaking, he snorted loudly, his whole face contorting with the power of his booming laugh. John turned to glare at him, the frustrated angry look on his face only increasing the power of his laugh. His shoulders shook even more violently, his hands clutched his stomach that was now beginning to ache, his face was flushed, tears where streaming from his eyes and as he grasped for breathe he repeatedly snorted loudly. He finally began to calm down, and he opened his eyes, his breath slowing and wiping the tears from his eyes. John continued to glare at him.

"You quite done?" he asked, brushing himself down and standing hands crossed over his chest. Sherlock's stomach was still convulsing and jumping, daring him to start laughing again.

"I believe so" he chuckled. John stared at him stonily.

"Don't look so angry John... you did make a spectacular sight" he whispered, his hands still clutched at his stomach.

"Well you bloody well do it then!" he snapped, his face red with anger and embarrassment. Sherlock raised an eyebrow coolly and got to his feet. In four single movements he crossed the room, reached up and clasped the paper that was easily within reach for the taller man, pulled it sharply down and brought the whole piece in front of John's face waving it slightly. John snatched it away from him and shoved it into a black bin bag.

"Wasn't difficult John... can't see why you found it so hard" he smiled drawing himself to his full height and looking pointedly down on the older man. John shook his head at him, his face finally cracking into that heart warming smile that Sherlock hadn't ever seen on any other person. He elbowed Sherlock gently in the ribs.

"Well if it isn't difficult, you can help me with the wallpaper- and don't say you're busy, you were just saying how bored you were 5 minutes ago" he said holding up a finger as Sherlock opened his mouth to protest. The smile fell from Sherlock's face and he rolled his eyes.

"Fine!" he huffed, reaching for a piece of wallpaper and brush coated in paste. A hand slapped his away, curling around his wrist.

"Last time I checked you had to actually hold the paper to put it on the wall" he said sarcastically, looking down at the guilty hand. John spluttered noisily.

"Sherlock... look at what you're wearing!" he whispered. He complied taking in his rumpled suit and brogues, meeting John's eye he shrugged.

"Bu- but! That's an Armani... And the shoes they're Gucci!" he flapped. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow again.

"You know designers, John?" he asked, the chuckling building in his stomach again. John rolled his eyes and pinched his forehead.

"That is beside the point Sherlock. Look just go change into something old; look in my wardrobe if you have to. There's no bloody Armani or Gucci in there..." he muttered almost enviously. Sherlock looked at the smaller man's attire, jeans and an old white t-shirt. He nodded to himself and made his way out of the room.

"Didn't take you for one of them John, knowing your designers... people talk enough as it is!" he chuckled as a roller flew over his head from the living room.

"THAT ONE HAD PASTE ON IT!" Sherlock called, now openly laughing. John's head peered out looking at the puddle forming where the roller had hit the wooden floor.

"OH FOR FU-"

 

==

"Does this meet your requirements John?" a voice said from the doorway. John started and stopped singing along to the radio, nearly dropping the roller in his hand. As impossible as it seemed he had forgotten the detective was even in the flat.

And yet there he was, looking thoroughly awkward in John's too short, old, paint splattered jeans and a tight black t-shirt. John felt his mouth go momentarily dry as he took in the detectives unexpectedly toned forearms, the tight... no very tight black t-shirt straining over what he was sure was a muscular chest and the man's alabaster swan-like neck. A hand was waving in front of his face, he snapped out of his daze to find the object of his attention directly in his eye line. Damn his shortness and Sherlock's ridiculous height that meant they lined up like... that. John cleared his throat and muttered that he looked fine, turning back to the wall.

The detective was looking down at his flatmate, a frown formed in the space between his eyebrows. John was staring intently at the wall, the force of his stare so pronounced it seemed he was trying to make it collapse, a slight blush was creeping up his cheeks, and his right eye kept twitching over to Sherlock as if he desperately wanted to look.

"There's tea on the floor" Sherlock stated, looking at the two lukewarm cups behind the two, saying anything to break the awful silence in the room. John looked at him like a rabbit caught in a headlight, his usually big brown eyes, even more giant and awestruck.

"Ye-s, teas, on the floor, tea..." he stammered, his eyes locked on something that Sherlock couldn't see. Did he have something on his neck? He touched it gingerly, poking his fingers over the spot that John was staring so intently at.

John's blush deepened and he hurriedly stooped down to gather the tea closest to him, pausing for a moment before grabbing the second cup. He passed it to Sherlock silently, leaning back on the sofa that he had moved away.

Bloody hell how could the man's fingers be so freaking sexual? And brushing and probing his neck... that graceful... GET A GRIP MAN! He thought to himself. Sherlock mimicked his actions leaning against the sofa. John took a deep sip of his tea.

Sherlock was running his fingers along the cup. The man didn't even seem to be aware that he was doing it, but John certainly was. His mouth slack jawed and thankfully inside his cup, hiding his obvious gaping, his eyes watching the fingers dance along the navy blue cup, a brilliant contrast to his pale white fingers.

"John, have you ever had sexual relations with another man?" John choked spitting his un-swallowed tea onto the wall in front, whilst simultaneously dropping his cup onto the carpeted floor. Thankfully the cup didn't break, but it didn't stop it spilling its contents onto the floor.

"What the- where on earth did that come from?" John spluttered. Sherlock shrugged absentmindedly, apparently not noticing the scene that John had created, or his bright red embarrassed face.

"Just curious" he answered taking another sip of his tea. John breathed heavily in one short burst.

"NO!" Lie. "Never!" ...Multiple liar. He stammered, his brain relaying the various... special friends he had in the Army... and before that. Sherlock was nodding along, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him.

"And you've never thought about it? Not even in the army with limited women around? Never... after the army, not even a dream?" he continued. John wanted to drop his cup again. Who the bloody hell had he been talking to? If Lestrade had told him about that dream he had about the three of them he'd freaking kill him.

"Nope, no, never..." he said far too quickly. Sherlock smirked into his cup.

"Have you Sherlock?" John asked. He had hoped for a similar reaction to his. Promptly spitting his tea out, wiping that smug smile from his face, if he was really lucky him dropping his tea all over that ridiculously tight t-shirt.

Instead Sherlock turned his eyes twinkling and his lips curved into a smile.

"I thought we'd established on our first night together what my area was... and one needs to be an expert in his area." he purred suggestively. Ah bloody hell. He locked those stunning grey eyes on the older man. Nervously John's tongue came out to wet his lip.

Sherlock's eyes had darkened into black pools where his steely grey eyes had been before, so dark John was unsure where his pupils ended and his iris's started. They closed in on him, those beautiful fingers grasping at his waist, pulling him closer, their hips touching. Encircling his back, his arms and hands mimicking his actions.

Sherlock laid his forehead on John's, his eyes closed, enjoying the close proximity of his flatmates body. He breathed in his scent, his clean, slightly spicy scent, the smell that lingered on the pillow that Sherlock always hugged to his body whilst sleeping. And here it was in its full force, beneath him, the sources hands now snaking up his back underneath his t-shirt, the fingers still warmed from the tea, caressing him tenderly and nurturing.

He looked down into John's face, looking deep into the chocolate brown eyes, taking him in. Those eyes, everything about them screamed love and devotion for the man he was looking at. His eyes still locked on John, he placed a hand under his chin, gently raising the man's head to him, whilst dropping his lips to his.

They met in a spark. Sherlock's hands flew to John hair, shaggy from the months of being out of service and lack of hair cut, his fingers entangling locks of hair around them, holding them together.

John's hands where on his stomach, his squeaks of surprised pleasure of as his fingers brushed a slim but toned abdomen pleasing Sherlock no end. He groaned, raising himself onto his tiptoes to press himself further into the detective, but ultimately overbalancing falling forward and bringing Sherlock with him.

They landed on the ground with a thump, John directly on top of Sherlock his legs and feet entangled in his, his hands and arms on either side of his body. The man was lolling backwards his breath shallow, rubbing a hand over his head.

"You ok, Sherlock?" John asked, pulling himself further up the man's body allowing his face to be directly on top of Sherlock's.

"Don't think you're going to be on top every time this happens" he chuckled bringing John's face down and allowing their lips to meet again. John laughed as well.

"You make a habit of falling over with guys on top of you- you know don't answer that!" he chuckled, trying to get the mental image of Sherlock and random guys out of his head. He only wanted the image of him and Sherlock in his head. Sherlock laughed again, the vibrations rocking through John's body as well.

"Well you seem to be making a habit of falling over at least...twice in an hour" he tutted mockingly. John tapped him lightly on the arm, pressing his lips to his once more. Sherlock laughs were immediately silenced, as the kiss deepened.

Sherlock tipped them so that he was on top and slowly began to work his way downwards, starting first with John's chin, then his neck, then his collar bone, blowing his warm breath into the hollow beneath it. John's body lurched beneath Sherlock's at this.

"Bedroom" he groaned. Sherlock looked up at him with dark eyes, looking into the doorway.

"Good idea... I doubt Mrs Hudson's patience would stretch to this" he whispered, his eyes looked on the door, as if he was expecting the landlady to walk through at any moment.

"I wouldn't be so sure, I'm sure she and Mrs Turner would have great fun comparing us and her married ones" John replied absentmindedly. Sherlock simply laughed at him before, dragging the shorter man upwards and towards his bedroom.


End file.
